


The Hogwarts Undercover Assignment

by Hezaia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate magical history, Gen, OCs - Freeform, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezaia/pseuds/Hezaia
Summary: “Robin Rask. That’s one of yours, no?”The year is 1992. Dorian Santos – adjunct professor at the Blåkulla Institute with a genetically predisposed sun allergy – is dispatched to supervise the student on the Hogwarts Undercover Assignment. Because said student had just stolen a priceless magical artefact, and Dorian’s supervisor doesn’t like that. As for Dorian himself on the other hand…Life experience does not necessarily equal emotional maturity.
Relationships: OC & OC
Kudos: 2





	The Hogwarts Undercover Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by old impressions and recent comments made in regards to a certain author.
> 
> Also inspired by a sudden urge to write about an atypical vampire.

* * *

Today was a reasonably bright and sunny afternoon. The weather was unusually lovely, but Dorian Santos – adjunct professor at the _Blåkulla Institute_ – was unable to enjoy it due to a genetically predisposed sun allergy. Also, it was early. Waaaaay too early.

“Uh…” Dorian rubbed his eyes; he looked like he had only just rolled out of bed, which was not entirely inaccurate, seeing as to how he had been dozing off down in the library archives not even ten minutes ago. “Did you need me for anything, Professor Stromberg?”

Professor Gudrun Stromberg was a leading figure at the Institute. Her influence was definitely on par with that of the current headmistress, which was no real wonder, seeing as to how the latter just so happened to be Professor Stromberg’s mentee. And so was Dorian really, in a manner of speaking.

Never mind the fact that Dorian was actually more than a hundred years her senior; he still had plenty of things to learn, like how to survive in the cutthroat environment that was magical academia.

“Dorian,” she said, because of course she did; Gudrun Stromberg hated titles and surnames and addressed everyone – even royalty – by their given names and ‘you’. “Robin Rask. That’s one of yours, no?”

Robin Rask. The name did sound vaguely familiar, yes, but− Wait.

“Oh,” Dorian said, baring his mildly pointed teeth in a sheepish smile. “I guess you found out.”

The cat was out of the bag.

“Did you sanction this?” the professor asked, holding up a vaguely familiar, glimmering stone.

“Uh…” Dorian said, genuinely confused now. “I mean, yeah, I was involved to a certain degree but… that was a long time ago and I don’t remember much. Where did you get that? I thought Flamel had it.”

“Oh yes, it is curious, isn’t it?” the professor said, glaring at it as though it had personally offended her. “Rask sent it to me, asking for extra credit. Rather audacious, don’t you think?”

Dorian smiled, confused but also proud. Little Robin Rask had always been an interesting one, even before signing up for the ‘Hogwarts Undercover’ placement. Still− “Are you referring to the audacity of the theft or to the audacity of attempted bribery?”

“Dorian,” the professor sighed, as if praying for a higher existence to bestow additional patience upon her. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the local gods already had their hands full and were unable to answer the call. “You know what, never mind. What do we do with this?”

Dorian’s smile widened noticeably and he closed his eyes and stretched before looking back up, appearing immensely content. “Little Red is still at Hogwarts, no? Not robbing any banks or anything?”

With a sigh, the professor explained. “The stone was at the school. Apparently, a certain headmaster decided to retrieve the thing from a certain bank for safekeeping at Hogwarts. Allegedly, the wraith of the latest dark lord was looking to acquire it.”

Dorian blinked. “And they decided to put it in a school – a school full of children – for safekeeping, knowing full well that there was a wraith coming for it? All other potential hiding places aside, why not put it in some place placed under the… _Fidelius_ or whatever it’s called? It’d be pretty hard to find it then…” For people who did not know how to look for hidden things, at least. “In any case, problem’s solved, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like they’ll come looking for it all the way over here, right?”

Sighing, the professor put down the stone.

“Dorian,” she said at last, pinching the bridge of her nose. “While I myself have my concerns about the decisions of the headmaster in question, I am far more concerned about the fact that _your_ student, who is supposed to be _undercover_ , stole a priceless magical artefact right under the nose of a very nosey headmaster and that persistent wraith.”

Well− “What is the problem here exactly? Little Red succeeded, no?”

“Perhaps, but that is not the point.”

Dorian frowned. “And the point is?”

“Rask obviously needs more supervision; direct supervision,” the professor intoned. “And you just happen to be available.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “But what about−” −his upcoming night-time courses? He had spent so much time prepping for them and everything.

“I am certain that another adjunct will put your material to good use,” the professor responded with a smile that was as sharp as a knife. “Now start packing. You’re leaving tonight.”

Dorian’s mouth fell agape in horror. “But it’s still in the middle of the semester?! I still have−” −courses, courses to−

“As I said,” Professor Stromberg said, with a glint of teeth. “I am certain that another adjunct will put your material to good use.”

And with those words, she swept up the Philosopher’s Stone and vanished, leaving Dorian to cover his face and wail at the unfairness of it all.

Another adjunct appeared in the doorway, drawn there either by a sudden urge to borrow a book or by the unexpected sounds of distress. Finals were still weeks away after all.

In any case, Dorian was too occupied to really pay attention, and the other adjunct turned on their heel, deciding to pretend they could come back again after lunch.

* * *

So yeah, not such a great start of the day, but Dorian had experienced far worse setbacks in his life; he had been alive for a fairly long time after all – or undead, depending on the perspective. In any case−

Dorian was back in his office, digging through piles upon piles of paperwork. Because one of his tall stacks of paper had fallen over, knocking into another stack, knocking into yet another stack, triggering a massive paper avalanche that would take some poor bastard hours to clean up – with magic or otherwise. But Dorian had no intention of being this bastard; he just needed to retrieve this one thing, and then he was good to go. If some other adjunct wanted his notes, then they could dig for them by themselves. Because adversity breeds character and all that.

Fingers closing around something cold and solid, Dorian let out a triumphant noise and pulled it out. It looked like a normal pocket mirror, and it had been one once upon a time. Now however, it was an enchanted pocket mirror, one out of a pair.

“Little Red?”

No one picked up on the other end, which was really no wonder. Class was probably still in session. Oh well.

Time to start packing.

* * *

The thing is, it would have been pretty easy to travel to Scotland a lot quicker. He could have used a Portkey, which was what the Brits called an object that had been enchanted to enable long-distance or short-distance teleportation. However, Dorian had already tried those back in the day, and he hadn’t really liked them. Also, there was the matter of entering the country in and by itself.

Regular Britain was one thing; not terribly hard if one could produce a viable passport from another country in Europe. Now Magical Britain on the other hand? Dorian would rather not; the paperwork alone would have been dreadful.

It felt weird though, going back to the UK. Dorian had spent quite a bit of time there in the early parts of the 20th Century, and a bit before that. He had liked it well enough back then, but not enough to stick around when the situation for people – or perhaps beings – like him had begun to deteriorate.

When the opportunity to leave had arisen, he had readily taken it, hitching a ride to Iceland with an acquaintance, and through a series of meetings and coincidences – some happy and others far less happy – he had ended up at the main campus, Campus Haga, at the _Blåkulla Institute_ , first as a student and later as a teacher, and he had been there long enough to largely forget about his initial culture shock.

Because it had been a shock; it really had. A lot of things were different.

The so-called house elves as they were known in Britain didn’t exist in this region, which was colloquially known as Magical Norden. Slavery had been outlawed in the magical community for hundreds of years; since the early 1400s, as a matter of fact. Because in the mid to late 1300s, a lot of shit had gone down in the region, and elsewhere as well.

In the year 1349, the plague known as Black Death reached Norway, allegedly by means of a merchant ship from England, and in the year 1350, the plague reached Sweden, where an estimated 30 to 40 percent of the population – magical and nonmagical – had died as a result. It had been a great tragedy and a great trauma for those who had lived through it. However, it had also served as a catalyst for various changes in society.

Politically, it brought about the Kalmar Union, which was formed in 1397, uniting Denmark, Norway and Sweden in an alliance. Said alliance had also included areas like present day Finland, Iceland, Greenland, the Faroese Islands, the Orkney Islands and the Shetland Islands, and it had brought communities of magicals closer, leading to the foundation of the Blåkulla Institute as well as to an increasing rate of intermarriage. As a result, present day Magical Norden didn’t have clearly segregated communities anymore; looking for a Nordic Magical that the Brits would have categorised as a true ‘pureblood’ was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Of course, this was not to say that there weren’t purists and bigots around, or that some communities didn’t like sticking to themselves, but they were generally too few to have much of an impact in the longer term. Of course, with time and in times of upheaval, public opinion could definitely change, and rather swiftly at that. Things had been going reasonably well so far however.

As for that whole political alliance, the Kalmar Union, it had only lasted for so long before gradually breaking apart. Sweden had been the first to leave in 1523, taking Finland and its other territories with it. The alliance in-between Norway and Denmark meanwhile had lasted up until 1814, even though it obviously hadn’t been without issues.

As for the magical side of things, the Kalmar Union had never really gone away; Magical Norden remained, and the _Blåkulla Institute_ simply decentralised, leaving various branches that remained in contact and on fairly good terms with one another.

In the present day, this division still persisted.

There was Campus _Haga_ , located close to the Swedish capital. It was the oldest, but no longer the biggest.

Then there was Campus _Blå Jungfrun_ , an island located off the coast of South-Eastern Sweden. These days, it was less of a campus and more of a nature reserve, and a location to conduct rituals on special occasions.

Then there was Campus _Brattön_ on an island in the Bohuslän region, located right close to the Swedish-Norwegian border. However, up until the year 1658, the region had actually belonged to the Denmark-Norway alliance, so this had been the school that many Danish and Norwegian magicals had attended. But with the school ending up on the wrong side of the border, the school staff and students had largely relocated, some of them ending up as far away as _Valakirkja_ on Iceland. It had taken until the early 1900s for Campus Brattön to resurge as one of the bigger campuses, gathering students from all of Norden.

Finally, there were the newer additions: Campus _Storuman_ (or _Luspie_ or _Lusspie_ ) in the northern part of Sweden, and the not so new but now Blåkulla-affiliated schools _Kyöpelinvuori_ and _Korvatunturi_ (also known as _Bealljeduottar, Pelljatuõddâr, Peljituodâr_ ). Out of these three, _Storuman_ and _Korvatunturi_ were more aimed at teaching the traditional shamanic arts, which had been largely suppressed or pushed aside in favour of a more generic brand of magic. But times had changed since then, and they would no doubt continue to change – hopefully in a more positive direction.

Dorian honestly couldn’t wait to see how it all turned out.

But first, there was dealing with the Magical UK – First up, Magical England, then Magical Scotland, and maybe a few other ones on the way back if he had time. Because Dorian had actually taken the train there, from France. Allegedly, there was some conception that his kind could not move easily over open waters. But no one had really said anything about going under the water, no?

In any case, a lot of stuff about different types of magical beings were really just myths stemming from misconceptions and intentional… what was the word again?

Well, in any case−

“A-ah,” Dorian sighed to himself, ignoring the looks it earned him. “I forgot to tell them to water my plants…”

* * *

It took several hours to get to Scotland, simply because Dorian had opted to go by train. He had also taken a few breaks along the way, and a few detours on top of that. But now he had arrived – well, in the area at least.

This was rather boringly named ‘Forbidden Forest’ – that is unless Dorian had somehow managed on getting himself lost again. There were centaurs in there, and unicorns, and spiders of various sizes. There were also other things, like Thestrals, roaming the forest. None had accosted him so far however, keeping their distance.

But question was whether they were keeping their distance to him or to the hooded figure scurrying down the path. “Little Red, why are you out here? I thought this was the Forbidden Forest.”

The hooded figure froze and then lifted its head, eyes wide. And yes, Dorian could see all of that, because he had excellent night vision.

“Ah, oh, it’s you!” The hood was pulled back, revealing a face that was only vaguely familiar; the hair colour was the same though. “You startled me.”

Dorian was quite startled himself, because this Robin Rask was not the Robin Rask that he had waved goodbye to at the airport some 12ish months ago. But never mind such small details; it wasn’t as though Dorian himself hadn’t gone around changing how he presented himself over the centuries. There were other things more worthy of note. “I can see that. Is that a stake?”

And that was a rhetorical question, because that was most definitely a stake – and a mallet too for that matter.

“Uh…” The items disappeared behind his student’s back. “It’s not for you. I mean, since I’m in the Forbidden Forest and all, I thought it’d be good with some additional protection?”

Excellent thinking. That said− “…Why are you here in the first place?”

There was a mild shrug at that. “Boredom, mostly. Also, I’ve got a bone to pick with a certain centaur. What about you?”

Well− “Well, I’ve spent an ungodly number of hours on trains and busses in the last 24 hours, because Professor Stromberg decided you needed direct adult supervision. Arriving just in time to see you attempting to stir up a human-centaur conflict, I’m starting to see why.”

Not to say that there was anything wrong with said activity; it was just a bit too early on to start getting into things like that.

In any case, his student seemed a bit taken aback. “What? She did? But− Wait… you took the train here? But you−?”

Yeah. “Yeah, yeah, well, I have a lousy sense of direction, especially over the open sea. Besides, do you have any idea about just how much energy it takes to fly that kind of a distance, especially when it’s windy? It’s not fun.”

It being awful was normal. It being pleasant was not.

“Right…” said Robin Rask, shifting from one foot to the other. “I take it the professor didn’t like my present then?”

Dorian sighed. “I’m not sure, honestly. I think the issue lies more with you stirring up trouble. This is supposed to be an undercover position after all, which means keeping a low profile.”

“But I have been keeping a pretty low profile!” Robin argued. “It’s not my bloody fault that shit keeps going down while I’m nearby! I mean, honestly, it’s their own damned fault! They gave a bunch of us bloody detention and had us wander around these woods looking for some injured unicorn, making us do that knowing full well that there was a vengeful wraith lurking in the vicinity! I mean, I obviously got out, but after that, and the whole troll incident and the Cerberus incident before that, I was basically like ‘Screw it!’. The security for the stone was practically a joke; it was practically begging to get stolen. I mean, those security measures? A regular first-year would have been able to get past that!”

Well− “Well, maybe you could’ve stopped to consider that this might just have been the point?”

Granted, it was just a theory, but Dorian had mulled it over on his journey, weighing different theories against one another, and this one had just seemed to make sense.

“Huh?” Robin blinked, frowning. “Wait, you mean that− Oh. But you know, even though I said ‘a regular first-year’ could’ve done it, I don’t really mean that anyone could’ve – It’d have to be a pretty smart and quick-witted person, or else they’d be dead. But who− No, wait, it has to be the Headmaster’s Golden Boy and his friends; can’t really think of anyone else. Did I accidentally ruin someone’s practical exam?”

With all due likelihood, yes. “Well, I’d wager you probably ruined someone’s plan to test someone’s abilities. Anyways, why haven’t I heard about these incidents before now? And the details on the detention?”

“Ugh, well, guess it must’ve slipped my mind,” Robin admitted, appearing somewhat sheepish at first before becoming serious again. “Being in this place does things to your head like… like you can feel your IQ dropping just from being inside of the building. I know it’s not the building but the people, but still− I miss the _Blåkulla Institute_. So much.”

“Understandable.” And very much so. “But it’ll only be a few weeks before you can take remedial classes. Because judging by what you’ve told me about the education over here, I reckon you’ll need it.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Robin said, offering up a somewhat dismissive wave. “I mean, I started learning magic two years ago, so I’ve got two years on most of my peers over here. But like, it’s still hard. Over here they make us sprout Latin and make precise hand movement – ‘Swish and flick’ and whatnot. And yet they’re somehow in awe when people use wandless magic – unless it’s the kind children use, because then, they’re just like ‘accidental magic’ and brush it off. And what’s up with these wands? I mostly keep mine around for appearances sake and use a transfigured stick – because pretending is important, you know?”

Well− “It comes with the territory of keeping a low profile.”

“Also,” his student added, with increasing fervour. “Another fucked up thing: As much as I hate waving around these sticks, I can see the point in using a conduit to avoid having limbs blown off in case a spell backfires on you. But I looked shit up and people like you aren’t even allowed to have wands!”

People, huh? “Yes, I am intimately aware of that.”

But his student’s tirade didn’t end there, oh no. “There’s just so much blatant discrimination – magical and otherwise!” Robin said. “And this idiocy with blood status? Magic is magic. Also yeah, do you know who does basically all the manual labour over here? Freaking house elves!”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, yes, I am familiar with the workings of Magical Britain.”

“And the banking system−”

Dorian nodded again. “Yeah, yeah…”

“And the treatment of−”

Dorian hummed in agreement.

“And this whole school, with moving staircases and shit, it’s basically one large violation of−”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then I went into the library to look up info on other magical schools, and−”

“Uh-huh.”

“−And, I noticed that there’s just so much bullshit. They’ve only included like one school per every continent that isn’t Europe, and in Europe, they only listed three – like fine, _Beauxbatons_ and _Durmstrang_ are pretty big, but to completely leave out the _Blåkulla Institute_? What the− And don’t even get me started on _Ilvermorny_. I mean, I haven’t been there myself, but−”

“I have,” Dorian admitted. “It was quite a while ago, but I really can’t say that it lived up to its reputation.”

And he had almost managed to block that experience out. Almost. And now he remembered. Vividly.

“And this place, honestly! ‘One of the finest wizarding schools in existence’?! Absolute hogwash.”

Hog…wash? “Couldn’t agree more.”

“I mean, it’s a school, but not a very good one. Maybe it was different before, but the quality of the education? I’m going to be generous here and say it fluctuates a lot. History of Magic is the absolute worst, and it makes me so, so angry.”

And Dorian could tell; it was very obvious. That said however−

He reached into his sleeve. “Well, chill. Breathe. Rejoice. I brought Swedish candy just for you.”

That brought Dorian’s student to a pause. “Whoa…” Hands shook as they took the bag. “Dorian, you’re the best.”

Well− “Well, not sure that I am the best but I’m certainly doing my best. So, let’s put off the revolution for now and channel that rage into something productive. You still haven’t completed your report, right? Once you’re finished, I’ll introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

* * *

In the beginning of June 1992, Professor Gudrun Stromberg found the following on her private desk: A handwritten compendium. The professor took one look at it and then slapped her forehead.

“ _Hogwarts – Teaching hogwash since the 990s_? For fuck’s sake!”

* * *

Today was an unusually dark and rainy morning. The skies were overcast, and quite dreary-looking in general. The weather was excellent, and Dorian Santos had every intention of enjoying every last minute of it, thick sunscreen and everything. It was technically too early for Dorian to be awake, but he was more than willing to sacrifice a couple of hours of sleep for this not particularly noble endeavour.

“Are we seriously pranking the Flamels?” asked his student, not quite believing it.

And what did Dorian have to say to that? “Duh.”

“But isn’t that kind of mean? I mean, they’re technically dying? The Stone’s still−”

Hah. “Well, he’s had 600 years to come clean on the matter of the co-creators of that thing, so excuse me for holding just a slight grudge. That said, if he’s willing to publicly announce it to the world, I might even consider returning the thing. No promises though.”

There was some serious side-eyeing at that. “For being so old, you’re surprisingly childish.”

Dorian could only shrug at that. “I used to be really uptight back in the day. It got tiring after a while.”

Coming to think of it, he had certainly done a whole lot of things back in the day. His journey through France and the UK had most definitely jogged his memory. In any case− “Hey, Flaaaaaaamel, you home? It’s about time we had a chat.”

* * *

And then, a few more years went down in quick succession, with various events taking place and Dorian travelling back and forth in-between the Institute and his other responsibility. And somewhere along the line, a certain Dark Lord reared his ugly head.

Maybe Dorian ought to have dealt with it, but you know…?

“Little Red,” he said, physically hauling away a certain student of his. “No amount of extra credit is worth getting stuck in a warzone. The Hogwarts Undercover Assignment ends here, understood?”

* * *

The Hogwarts Undercover Assignment.

Originally established in the 1700s, it was a rarely utilised opportunity to earn extra credit in a series of different subjects, among them ‘Magical Civics’. It had been fairly popular at first, but especially in the 20th Century, said popularity had rapidly worn off, as other potential assignments – undercover and otherwise – had become more readily available.

The ‘official’ reasoning behind the establishments of said undercover assignments had always been to promote increased understanding and cultural exchange in-between different magical communities. However, it was alleged that at least a few of them had originated as attempts to get a break from particularly troublesome students. And that was probably true enough; Gudrun Stromberg had been among them after all.

However, she had also been the first to actually complete the assignment, remaining at Hogwarts for a full seven years, whereas most other student dropped out at year five at the very latest, citing various reasons. Were said reasons compelling enough, then partial credit could still be awarded.

And it had, allowing Robin Rask to graduate from the _Blåkulla Institute_ with way better grades than expected.

“As much as we are glad about our child’s academic success, we are not quite satisfied with how this turned out,” said a particular set of parents, that had only been marginally involved for the last nine years. “We thought it was just a phase, and that Robin would grow out of it eventually, but− For the record, we think there’s absolutely nothing wrong with pink, and that Ro−”

Dorian smiled, deliberately making his smile just a tiny bit too wide, drawing attention to his elongated fangs.

That threw the mother off, and made both mother and father inch backwards, as intended. But Dorian had no intention in inconveniencing them for long; he was simply there to help Robin pack.

Because, while the typically progressive Magical Norden typically coexisted quite peacefully with the typically progressive mundane society, that didn’t mean that there wasn’t friction, whether due to magic or otherwise. Prejudices existed everywhere, whether people were aware of them or otherwise.

And Dorian, Dorian had never really seen a need to discourage Robin’s apparent ambition to learn shapeshifting, or discouraged any research into making permanent physical changes. He had simply taught his students the ropes, informed about the risks and waited patiently to see the results.

And the Robin that Dorian had found back in the Forbidden Forest had definitely been worth waiting for. That said however− “You done backing?”

“Yep.” His student zipped up the suitcase and shrunk it down to the size of a glasses case before slipping it into a regular backpack. “I’m ready.”

They exited through the door, because Dorian had called for an actual cab. Once they were safely out and under the cover of the umbrella, Dorian turned to his student, now eighteen and properly of age to make important (and legal) life decisions.

“So, just wondering: Are you keeping that name or…? First name aside, if you don’t like the surname, you can have mine. Or Professor Stromberg’s – She did offer.”

There was a slight hum at that as Robin opened the door for him. “ _Robin Santos_? Meh, no offence, but that’d make it sound like we’re married or something. Now, _Robin Stromberg_ on the other hand… I might actually drive my old professor into an early grave with that one. Well, semi-early grave, I suppose.”

Dorian smiled, ducking into the back of the cab before his student followed after.

“Where to?” asked the driver, and Dorian turned to his former student, lifting an eyebrow.

Robin took a moment to consider it. “The nearest thrift store,” the redhead finally decided, slouching into the seat. “I’ve got some clothes to donate, and some money to spend.”

Dorian smiled, undeniably proud. He could probably use a few new items himself, to shake it up a bit. As much fun as it was to wander the streets at night or in heavy rain while looking like a temporally displaced Victorian nobleman, maybe it was time to try something new. Maybe this fairly recent but not quite new punk thing?

“Say,” Dorian said, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think I could pull off a mohawk?”

* * *


End file.
